


Tête-à-Tête on a Park Bench

by raskin



Series: Out of Whitechapel [3]
Category: Lewis (TV), Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Cops on a Date, Lunch date, M/M, Romantic Fluff, Secret Relationship, secret romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-05-22
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:59:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raskin/pseuds/raskin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cutting through the park at lunchtime, Meg Riley spies her colleague Emerson Kent alone on a bench.  She feels the need to check on him, to make sure he's not upset or even having a cry.  But before she gets close, Kent is joined by a tall, slender, dishy blond.  A stranger to her, but apparently not to Kent.</p><p>Good thing Meg knows how to keep a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tête-à-Tête on a Park Bench

**Author's Note:**

> "Whitechapel" canon: Kent cries.
> 
> "Inspector Lewis" canon: Hathaway likes sandwiches. And is "dishy."

Meg only took the route through the little park on nice days, when she was wearing sensible shoes, and when she wanted to put off getting back to the station. Today was one of those days.

The park had trees, some flower beds, and a few benches. Across the way she spotted a familiar figure sitting in the middle of one of the benches. Even though he was on the far side of the green, and had his back to her, Kent was easy to identify by that adorable mop of dark curls.

She hadn’t been long on the team, but he was already her favorite. Such a cute kid. And _poor_ kid, pining after their oblivious (and, at any rate, probably out-of-reach) Detective Inspector. At least, she hoped Chandler was unaware of the crush; the Lord only knew what would happen to the team’s chemistry if he felt he had to deal with it by applying questionable techniques from his extensive D.I. sensitivity training.

She was glad Kent was letting his hair grow out a bit, and had stopped trying to straighten it. And no longer greased it down with product like you-know-who. The curls suited Kent much better, framing his sweet little pixie face. Plus, even though he wasn't her type, she quite enjoyed the idea of someone tangling his (yes, always _his_ ) fingers in it.

She checked the clock on her phone, and reckoned she had enough time to go say hey. Her motherly instinct triggering, she hoped Kent wasn’t sad or depressed, or maybe even having a cry.

Poor kid.

Meg had only taken a couple of steps in his direction when she saw Kent approached by a tall, rail-thin figure with close-cropped hair that glinted gold in the sun. She was nowhere near close enough to hear what the man said, but she expected Kent to respond by scooting to the far end of the bench’s seat to share it with the stranger. Or, she thought with a smile, what if the man had spotted Kent sitting alone, and found he simply couldn’t resist introducing himself to the boy with the most beautiful eyes in the city? Giggling now, Meg pictured the little innocent gathering up his stuff and dashing away, all aghast.

But that was not at all what happened. The tall man, “Blondie,” was holding out what looked to be sandwiches wrapped in white paper, one in each hand. Kent didn’t move, other than to shrug one shoulder. Blondie then put his hands behind his back, and then Kent actually reached out and tapped the man’s left elbow, indicating his choice. Blondie held out the sandwich in that hand, Kent took it. Blondie sat sideways on the bench, facing Kent. Hmmm... Meg judged that the man's knee must surely be up against Kent’s hip. Holy mother of pearl. Either Kent was a lot easier pick-up than she would ever have guessed, or he was on a lunch date.

She stood on the path, dumbfounded and flat-footed, watching the men unwrap the food – Kent carefully folding back the paper, Blondie tearing off a strip and wadding it up – and begin to eat. Blondie said something, then Kent was nodding and speaking with some animation. Blondie ate and listened; it seemed like he never took his eyes off Kent.

The man was in profile, but she couldn’t make out much except that he had long, fine features and smooth, tanned skin. Probably a few years older than Kent, and – she realized with a start – almost certainly on the job. A cop could always recognize another cop. She was sure she’d never seen him here in London, and was sure she’d remember if she had. Even from this distance, she could tell he was quite dishy.

_Oh, god. Kent, you little darling._

Meg quickly checked her phone again; she really didn’t have that much time left to gawk. She hated to leave the lovely scene, but couldn't be late back to the station.

Whatever possessed her to click on “New Text” and start typing, she couldn’t say. 

{hey, sweetie, fancy a bit of lunch at the kebab shop? i’m just there now}

She hit “Send.” A moment later, she saw Kent jump a little, then hand his sandwich to Blondie, wipe his hands on a paper napkin, and fish his phone out of a jacket pocket. She felt slightly guilty for interrupting the sweet little tryst, but reasoned that she’d probably never have a more perfect chance to perform the experiment.

Kent seemed to be typing now, while Blondie looked on patiently. Then Kent was taking his sandwich back and continuing his narrative. Blondie had by now finished his lunch, and draped his arm across the back of the bench. If Meg were closer, she could confirm that Blondie was actually running a fingertip in circles on Kent’s shoulder. Or maybe she was just imagining it.

She jumped when her phone both beeped and vibrated in her hand. Kent’s reply had arrived. {thnks but sorry – loads of errands… next time?}

 _Yes!_ Meg’s heart swelled, and she almost squealed out an _oh my god._ She wished she could tell someone, grab a random park-goer and announce that Emerson Kent had himself a boyfriend (the way she’d announced to a busload of strangers that her sister had just given her a niece). Beaming now, she took one last look at the couple (yes, _couple_ ) on the bench.

The last thing she saw before hustling back to the station was Kent holding a large fizzy drink cup out to Blondie who, instead of taking it, just opened his mouth. Kent, to her utter astonishment, hesitated only a moment before tucking the tip of the straw between Blondie’s lips.

She would keep Kent's secret forever, if necessary, but _oh,_ how she wished she could tell someone. 


End file.
